


Better than Me

by Doctor_Benzedrine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Reader, Gender-neutral Reader, Inferiority Complex, Other, Reader is an Earth Defense Command Liaison, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 13:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20949038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Benzedrine/pseuds/Doctor_Benzedrine
Summary: You were insecure and didn't feel good enough, suffering from heartbreak. Maybe that's what drew the two of you together.





	Better than Me

**Author's Note:**

> Emetophobia warning. 
> 
> Starting and end points will be indicated by asterisks should you want to read the fic.

“Hit me again, Swerve,” you utter, holding out a wine glass. 

“You sure about this?” He asks, scratching his helm. “You know this is my last bottle and it’ll take a while to import the stuff in!” 

“Oh, it’s fine, believe me. I’ve got plenty’a bottles in my hab-suite!” You slam the glass on the long bar-style table you’re currently sitting on, looking up at your Cybertronian friend. 

“You know, as your friend, (Y/N), I really think you should stop. I say this not only as your friend, but as a professional who’s very concerned about your standing with Magnus.”

“Magnus is a pain in the aft and he knows it too! He needs to loosen up!” You giggle as you lay backwards on the bar on your side. “Sides’ Marissa knows how tough this job is. Miss Faireborn would never fire me for enjoying myself on a Friday night. I’m off the clock, silly!”

“You’re still in your jumpsuit.”

“But it’s unzipped!” You plead, looking up at Swerve. “One more glass…please.” You pout. 

The truth is you’re heartbroken and you aren’t sure how to cope with your feelings right now. You don’t want to bother Rung and being that vulnerable with him just isn’t your thing. It’s a very human thing, but you’re sure Cybertronians can understand. That is the purpose of their high grade, isn’t it? Cybertronians get drunk too! 

As if on queue you burp watching the reactions of some of the Crew in the bar. They mumble ‘gross’ to themselves and stare at you with a negative gaze. It’s nothing you aren’t used to. You’re just a squishy organic. 

Swerve pours you another glass and you drink it far too quickly, allowing yourself to get dizzy. Your head fills up with that distinct fuzzy feeling, your stomach feeling less than normal right now. It’ll pass. Swerve notices as he passes you a glass of human water and you sip at it.

Ha… ha… hah. The human liaison can’t hold their alcohol! That’s what you assume is going through the Crew’s head right now. You don’t care. You passed caring several glasses of wine ago. You’re about ready to give up, to saunter back to your hab-suite and cry it out when you see Him walk in. 

Oh. 

He’s so dreamy. Handsome. Intelligent. Cocky. 

That could be anyone on the ship, but He’s different. You think it’s because you’ve had a heart-to-heart conversation about His past with him. He understands how you feel, especially right now. Even if he doesn’t come out and say it, He’s heartbroken like you are. Hidden behind the scientific chargin, the less-than-safe weaponry, and the yellow briefcase is a broken heart - err spark. He knows you and you want Him. 

Brainstorm.

Brainstorm! That’s -

“Brainstorm!” You exclaim excitedly, your eyes lighting up as he notices you. The blue flier walks over, picking you up in the palm of his hand. 

“And how is my biggest fan tonight?” He’s talking about you? You’re his biggest fan? Of course you are! You giggle as your heart-rate picks up. You’ve already latched yourself onto him and something tells you he notices. 

“Excited to see you!” You attempt to stand up in his palm only to fall. He laughs as he positions you on his shoulder next to his weaponry on his back. 

“Careful,” he warns. “Our first liaison hurt herself getting too excited on one of her friends’ palms. In fact I think she-” He’s joking - surely? You swing your legs from side to side as Brainstorm chats with Swerve at the bar, Nautica joining him. 

“(Y/N) has had a few glasses of wine,” Swerve offers. “....five glasses.” He means well...you think. You aren’t sure anymore. You hope he’s concerned about you. 

“Four and a half actually!” You retort. 

“I don’t think that works the same for humans as it does for us,” Nautica offers, sipping on an Energon cocktail decorated with a cute umbrella. 

Brainstorm taps a pattern into the bar as he thinks aloud as he normally does. “Human alcohol is actually stronger than even our premium level high-grade.” 

“The stuff Trailcutter drinks?” 

“Stronger than the stuff Trailcutter drank?” 

“Wouldn’t (Y/N) be dead by now if that were the case?” 

“Fair point, but you also have to take into account the human who’s doing the drinking.” 

“Right here guys.” Nautica seems to understand your discomfort and re-directs the conversation to Brainstorm. 

“How would you know anyways?” 

“Whenever I refined the Holoform program-”

“Wasn’t Rung involved in that?”

“Whenever I refined the Holoform program, I tested it myself and-”

“You did not get drunk on human alcohol!” 

“Let him finish!” You say eagerly, the dizziness in your head subsiding. “And Swerve - the fifth glass -” Swerve is hesitant, but passes a glass to Brainstorm to give to you. 

“It was single handedly the best and worst experience of my scientific career” 

“Next to travelling through time to murder a tyrannical-despot-turned-Autobot-captain-of-the-Lost-Light to save your former unrequited love interest?” Brainstorm coughs and you are definitely getting stared at. There’s a possibility you just went too far with that one. You take the glass and swallow it down in one gulp, definitely feeling the effects immediately after. 

Oh no. 

No no no n- 

“Brainstorm, put me down - BRAINSTORM PUT-” He does and you climb off of the bar, rushing out of Swerve’s. You don’t know if you’re going to make it to your hab-suite, but you hope, pray that you will. You think you even utter Primus’ name in the midst of your drunken state, blurred vision, and cramped stomach. You forgot how large these hallways are and how difficult they are to get around, for someone of your size that is. 

Your heart races as you run through the hall which seems much longer than it was beforehand. You look up. You’re nowhere near your hab-suite, but maybe you’ve found something better. One of the Lost Light washrooms - a shining beacon of hope for your cramped stomach and pounding head. You rush in, hoping no Cybertronians are showering. 

***You’re in luck. Hurriedly you slide under the door and tug your jumpsuit off of your sweating body, tossing it aside. The floor is still wet from the last mech who showered here but you can’t let it bother you now. Crouched over the drain, you throw up. It’s painful, excruciating even. You can’t stand feeling this way, so utterly helpless and disgusting. There’s consequences for drinking too quickly. This is one of them. You lay on the ground, helpless and start to dry heave. After a few minutes, it’s over, you hope at least.***

You still feel weak as you glance at your abandoned jumpsuit. You wish you could reach the faucet, but you can’t. You feel tears filling your eyes as you remember why you’re in the position you’re in the first place. 

A phone call. An argument. You weren’t good enough. 

You aren’t good enough. 

You tear up as you slide away, hugging your knees. Your lone tears have turned into sobs. You cry out knowing it’s unlikely anyone will hear you. You’ll be thankful later. It’s embarrassing. Your head finds the back of the stall door as you lean against it. It’s still pounding. Of course it is. It wouldn’t be too horrible if it were just that, but it’s so much more. It’s the feeling - no, the certainty - that you’ll never be good enough for anyone, human or Cybertronian. You whimper and just let your emotions run their course, crying out, until you hear a door open. 

Your heart feels as though it’s about to stop in shock. You can’t let anyone see you like this. What if it’s Ultra Magnus? Swerve was right. You’re out of a job. Or worse - what if it’s - 

“I think it’s safe to say I was correct. Human alcohol is a lot stronger than our High Grade.” You feel a twinge of a smile come across your face. “...Why don’t you come out? The night is still young,” he teases. You chuckle as you fumble around for your jumpsuit. It’s not easy to put on because you’ve been sweating, but you somehow manage, leaving it slightly unzipped. “Or we can talk like this! Whatever you prefer.” 

“Talk about what? How you’re the greatest scientist in the history of Cybertron?” 

“You really are my biggest fan,” he responds, sing-songedly. Brainstorm sits down, sliding against the other side of the door. You feel the door shift with his weight. “I had a feeling something was wrong.” 

“Brainstorm, you aren’t the type to do this, are you? Talk about your feelings?”

“Not normally, no, but with you, it’s different.” You recognize his tone. He’s honest. This isn’t a facade; bravado. It’s really him. 

“Quark was one lucky bot.”

“I never really knew him, (Y/N).” Brainstorm responds. You can tell this is just as cathartic for him as it is for you.

“If he would have gotten to know you, he would have been the luckiest bot alive!” You respond in a comforting tone of voice. “Look, Brainstorm, I - I really look up to you -” You’re honest yourself. Being vulnerable doesn’t come easy for you either. “-And I think you’re great, amazing really! You’re so smart, snarky, confident. When I joined the Crew, I just wanted to be friends with you… and now… I think it’s more than that.” That came out like a slap to the face. You swallow nervously. “...I mean… I know you put on a brave face and act like some know-it-all, but I know the truth. You’re insecure like me. I spend a lot of my time thinking about the person who replaced me, how they were ‘better than me,’ and how ‘I don’t deserve love.’” You burp. “Love sucks, but you know something, Brainstorm?” 

“Probably.” He couldn’t resist, could he? You laugh. “What?” 

“You have to open yourself up to the possibility of it. You have to tell yourself that you deserve love. No matter how much that nagging voice in your head tells you that you don’t, you have to fight it. You and I, Brainstorm? We aren’t our insecurities. Look at me, rambling, sounding like Rung.” You laugh, but what you’re saying? It makes some sense. Brainstorm slides a servo underneath the stall as you grasp ahold of it, leaning your head against the stall door. “Do I think Quark would have loved you? I don’t see how he couldn’t. Stop beating yourself up.” 

Suddenly, Brainstorm parts. You get nervous for a second, but you see him stand and hear him fumbling with the lock as the door snaps open and he’s looking down at you. He holds out that same servo once again and you slide into it. “That goes for you too.” He says simply. “We’ll find love, (Y/N).” His words almost sting because a part of you wishes that it could be you, yet you know you come from two different worlds and it would never be possible. You don’t allow it to bother you, however, listening to him. “We’ve got too much to offer for it to go to waste.” With that, he carries you back to your hab-suite. You actually fall asleep curled up in his palm. If you can’t be more, maybe you can make this last forever, this feeling of a genuine friendship. After all, isn't that close enough to love?


End file.
